


Questions

by Hunter Stu (stunudo)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amelia - Freeform, Angst, F/M, gadreel!sam, trials!sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunudo/pseuds/Hunter%20Stu
Summary: Time with the Winchesters always left you with more questions than answers...





	1. How?

**Author's Note:**

> Starts in Season 6 and lets off in Season 8. Originally posted on MY Tumblr @stusbunker.

**Sam smiled shyly down at you, his eyes twinkling with hope. And the only thing that crossed your mind was “How did I get so lucky?”…**

You first understood how misunderstood the Winchesters are, after a case in Indiana. The Brothers that had started and somehow thwarted the Apocalypse, Death and an array of demons were just regular guys with a few too many chips on their shoulders.

You and your cousin Rafe had been closing in on a pair of Djinn who were also running a substantial drug operation. Which, of course, made it harder to get to the monsters themselves. After two weeks and Rafe getting abducted did you get them within your grasp. Suddenly two bulky dudes were barking order; guns in one hand and knives in the other.

“Back off pricks. These djinn are mine.” You spat, glaring at each of them suspiciously.

“Cool it, sweetheart. That’s fair. I can tell it’s personal,” the cocky one started, side eyeing the giant. In silent agreement they helped you flank the bottom feeders, making good use of your blood caked blade.

By the time you got to Rafe, it was too late; his body limp and drained. The look of euphoria the only solace as the sick satisfaction of killing his captors had already begun to fade. You tried to act strong in the presence of these strange hunters, but you all knew it was a mask.

Hours later and you had begun to hold normal conversation again. You chuckled humorlessly when you learned their real identities. After all, they were their own type of legend. Sam spoke to you in low tones, his long hair floating in the night breeze as you told him about your cousin and how you had been hunting together most of your lives.

“How’d you get started?” He asked, true curiosity in his fathomless eyes.

You sighed and dove into your origin story, “Family camping trip. Rafe’s little sister was dying of cancer and we went as a last hoorah, so to speak. The Wendigo came at night, dragging our parents out in to the woods. Rafe, Julia and I slept in one bed. I saw it, lingering in the shadows by the door.

“The only thing that saved me was my cousin’s disease riddled body. It could smell the sickness, but we were all intertwined and it couldn’t tell which of us was poison.”

“Wow, Y/N. So what happened, after?”

“Julia died about a week after we were put in foster care. Our parents were considered missing, but Rafe and I knew…a monster had stolen them in to the night forever.”

Sam didn’t offer sympathy or change the subject. Dean patted you on the back as you watched the last of Rafe’s fire smolder out. Strangers that stood with you as you mourned your last family member were strangers worth knowing.

*********

It was another six months working odd jobs and figuring out your strategy as a lone hunter before you laid eyes on the notorious duo again. After a frustrating and unsuccessful tracking of a vengeful spirit, you called Bobby Singer for some advice.

“How’s my best girl?” Bobby always was sweet to you and spending time with him reminded you that not all old men were creeps.

“Got a real vexing ghost on my hands. What can you tell me about Hoodoo dispelling charms? I’m thinking someone is keeping it only half-way in check.”

After an hour Bobby called back with the right summoning to attempt to purge it for good. “Now there might be a pair of idjits nearby if you want some free help.”

“Thanks, Bobby. I’ll consider calling in the cavalry, if it goes south.”

“Keep me posted.”

You hung up and got to work on finding the ingredients. This was a nasty spook, shaking the walls and generally making it hard to light the moss in the ceremonial bowl. A slight click of a closing door sent the hairs on the back of your neck on end. You continued to flick your lighter, chanting under your breath. As it turned to steam in the air your adrenaline peaked.

Sam’s hands locked onto your clavicles, yanking you backwards. The sensation was jarring. Before you knew it both you and Sam were on your asses as the wall caved in, precisely where you had been performing your spell work. A shotgun boomed beyond the rubble, Dean was here too. Slowly and with slight annoyance at the boys and Bobby, you finished off the bitter old mistress of the house.

*******

After Bobby passed and the Leviathans were sent back to which they came, you began to worry about Sam. Sure, Dean had been lost before, but something about the restlessness in his eyes told you that Sam was leaving the life behind. You weren’t more than acquaintances, so you kept your opinions to yourself. The world was crazy enough without you trying to handle his burdens too, you thought.

And regretted it instantly.

After a few bad one night stands and months of radio silence you got a late night phone call.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice was a cautious whisper.

“Winchester you better be bleeding if you’re calling me this late.” You muttered, rolling to sit on the edge of the pull out sofa you were crashing on.

“Garth said you were in the area. Up for some digging?”

“I assume you mean actual digging and not research, right?” You yawned, not really wanting to leave your lumpy bed.

“Guilty. We’ll buy you breakfast.” Sam offered, muffling the mouthpiece as Dean spoke in the background. “Dean promises there’ll be dessert.”

That got your attention, “Uh, hello? When did he show up?”

“Oh, right, well, about a month a go?” Sam sounded sheepish.

You rolled your eyes and stepped back into your boots. “You picking me up or am I meeting you?”

“Just text us your address, we’re already on the road.”

**

These were not the brothers you had known. Their faces were long with exhaustion, their words clipped and looks guarded. You realized after cleaning up at their motel that you were there as a buffer. They were fighting and needed a minder. You were no Bobby, even your best teacher voice couldn’t get their heads out of their asses.

You walked out of the bathroom with a towel on your head and a borrowed tee shirt of Dean’s. They had been yelling.

“Cut it out!” You bellowed. “You guys want to get kicked out and find another hole in the wall at this hour?!”

Sam gritted his teeth and gestured toward Dean in frustration. You crossed your arms over your chest as Dean scratched his eyebrow pointedly at Sam, with his middle finger. Slowly they relaxed, the tension rippling through the night. Sam left for a walk and you and Dean caught up.

“Purgatory? Better or worse than Hell?” You teased, but curious none the less.

“It’s not really a comparison. Hell was torture. This was constant battle. But I had a choice, and I chose to keep fighting. While, Goldilocks turned tail and found himself a little woman.” Dean grumbled.

It was starting to make sense. “So, why is he here now and not making baby Sasquatches?” You countered, knowing that Dean was missing the sacrifices Sam made for him.

“Hell if I know, Y/N.” Dean poured another finger of whiskey into your glass while he topped himself off.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back. Both of you.” You raised your glass in a toast. Dean’s head lilted to the side, not quite a nod, not quite a shrug.

A month later you were hitchhiking through Kansas when Garth sent you a message.

‘See if you can get a hold of them Winchester idjits, they stopped answering my calls.’

You held your breath and hoped the boys were on better terms.

“Hey there, handsome,” You purred into the phone. “Help a girl ease a friend’s mind?”

“Y/N, hiya sweetheart,” Dean answered gruffly. “Where the hell are you?” Dean responded to the cacophony of the roadside.

“Along I-70. You?”

“On my way, got something to show ya.”

An hour later the Impala pulled up to the window in the truckstop diner you had perched at. After a refuel, Dean drove you to the Bunker for the very first time.

***


	2. When?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me on the backstories, now we’ll get to more meaty stuff. This is right as Y/N visits the Bunker for the first time. Basically Sam’s perspective this time. Some dialogue taken from the show. Starts in Season 8 and ends in Season 9.

**Sam was grasping at straws, trying to stay upright from the toll of the trials. What he wanted to know above all else was; when all was said and done, would it be enough?**

It had been a long time since Sam had felt like he had a place to sit back and relax with friends. Bobby had been family and his place was more of a library overflowing a bachelor pad than a place for entertaining. Having Y/N spend time with him and Dean at the Bunker felt good, after he got over the general uncertainty of seeing her again. Dean and he seemed to be back on track, after the first trial and settling into the Bunker, their year apart truly started to fade.

What hadn’t faded, was the feelings he had for Amelia. With Y/N around, another woman who he wouldn’t admit he was attracted to, rekindled the ache of leaving Amelia behind. She was better off without him, but it still ate him from the inside out. Dean had finished giving Y/N the tour of the areas they had pilfered so far, knowing that there was still a lot of ground to cover.

“Some place you got here,” She seemed genuinely impressed, smiling easily at Sam as he was perched over a tower of open books. The Men of Letters’ library was immense and he felt compelled to keep reading and keep discovering. But Y/N tended to draw his eyes off the books a little too easily.

“I know, each day I find more things we didn’t know.” Sam exhaled.

“Looks like you’ll have your research itch scratched for a good long while,” Y/N stood with her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, one leg bent making her hips and swell of her backside noticeable.

Just then Dean appeared with beer for everyone, “What’d I tell you? Nerdgasming over the library.”

Y/N chuckled at Dean’s jab, but she softened at Sam’s bewilderment. “I think it’s smart, knowledge is power right?”

“Thank you.” Sam said, looking pointedly at Dean. Dean waved him off as he finally strode over with the beer for Sam.

“So, Garth has been pretty tight lipped about you guys. What gives?” Y/N slowly began to pry their situation with Kevin Tran and the Demon Tablet out of the brothers’ mouths. By the time she had wrapped her head around everything, it was time for a food run, Dean volunteered and neither Sam nor Y/N protested.

Twenty minutes later and Sam was oddly aware of Y/N’s perfume on the air. She sat across from him, scanning through the titles he had before him on one of the massive tables. “What,” Sam huffed, slightly amused at how she looked like she had gotten caught snooping.

“You would have made some lawyer, Winchester,” Y/N shrugged, taking a long pull off her beer. Her lips soft against the cold glass. “I can’t stand to read more than the job requires, and here you are completely content. Or as close as our kind gets to content.”

Sam’s jaw jutted out, shrugging he pondered, “Maybe I’m just curious. Besides, like you said, the more I know, the better prepared I am for whatever the next trial is.”

Y/N’s face shifted, her eyes flashing with understanding. She didn’t ask anymore questions, yet Sam cleared his throat trying to get back to the entry he had been reading about demon possession during the Salem Witch trials. A feeling tickled the back of his neck, like he had been caught shirtless on an autumn night. Y/N had found a chink in his emotional armor, but he wasn’t sure where it was himself.

***

The trials had been his only tangible thought for weeks, his body slowly slipping away from him. Sam Winchester had done many things in his thirty years, but quitting wasn’t one of them. Every muscle protested as he stood to head back to the library. He felt the floor shift beneath his boots like wet sand, the walls spiraling like a fun house tube. Slowly he fought to remain upright and into the solid foundation of the wood framed chair.

The only thing that made it worse was Dean’s constant doubts, the subtle glances and the outright challenges, all chipping at and fueling his resolve in varying measure. With Benny gone and Kevin in the wind, the pressure he felt to keep on chugging along was all that made sense. Y/N had left after only a few days at the Bunker, claiming she got stir crazy and finding herself a case in Colorado. Sam didn’t know why he kept checking his phone. Dean was with Charlie and he was benched.

He went back to the shooting range; he hated being left behind. That old nagging sensation of being the burden and not old/big/capable enough resurfaced after so many years, wasn’t helping his Winchester stubbornness. When all was cleaned up after the Djinn family, Sam felt guilty because he had screwed up. Yet, Dean hadn’t fought him, he had hugged him. Maybe what he saw in the dream was worse than Sam imagined, maybe Charlie was a good influence on his brother. Sam just didn’t know.

***

A month later

“Easy, Y/N,” Sam turned to look for Dean’s support. Dean played it cool, refusing to cast his line into the building tide.

“Excuse me?! Look at you, you are clearly not right in the head,” He hadn’t seen her this angry before, it was infuriating to be belittled while trying to make a point. He bit back his spite and listened as she continued to rant. “Besides, since when has it ever been a good idea to keep a demon in your basement?!”

“Crowley may be a douche bag, but we’ve got him locked down. Unless you don’t trust me either, Y/N?” Dean finally backed him up. Sam shrugged, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. She looked at his brother and then back at Sam, eyeing him suspiciously. He felt like he was being sized up and unconsciously straightened his back. He had a foot on her and she was still unimpressed.

“I cannot believe you two! You left the door open for these assholes and then decide to shack up while the world is stuck swallowing Angels. I show up to find a scared shitless honor student and now this.”

Kevin murmured from the corner, causing Dean and Sam to bark, “Shut up, Kevin!” in unison. Y/N stared at the high ceiling of the map room and huffed. Sam knew she wasn’t going to back down from this, but, for now, it was for the best.

“Y/N, you can stay and help us with the Angel problem or you can go about your business.” Dean was done arguing, he kept glancing at Sam like he was expecting him to pass out or be sick. Sam rolled his eyes and continued trying to persuade Y/N.

“Look, if we can give Crowley to give us the name of every demon he has topside. We can hunt them down. All of them.” Sam could sense her calming down, despite the glare he was getting.

“He will break, okay? And when he does, we’ll hold him down while the kid knives him. Then we all go out for ice cream and strippers.” Dean was really selling it now. Y/N cracked a smile and rolled her eyes at his brother’s cheek.

“Just stay away from him. Both of you.” Sam emphasized to both Y/N and Kevin.

“So now what?” Kevin asked, sensing the argument had dropped off. The hunters got to work, leaving the prophet to keep decoding. The bunker was oddly full and Sam felt better for the first time in a long time.

***

A month later

“So I know why you’re keeping little Kevin around, reads above his grade level and all. But why exactly is Y/N still here, Moose?” Crowley was growing bored and enjoyed getting under Sam’s skin more than anything. “I mean, she’s probably a decent hunter, but rather abrasive isn’t she?”

Sam cocked his head and looked Crowley in his greedy dark eyes, “I’d love to see you say that to her face.”

“I might have, in not so many words. Why do you think I have been hollering all morning. She started waterboarding me.” Crowley croaked indignantly. Sam raised his eyebrows, looking at the small patch of water that drained from the center of the devil’s trap.

“Sure.” Sam turned to leave.

“She fancies you, you know. Somebody like her doesn’t stay in one place this long if there isn’t a reason. Should probably let her down easy, yeah? Guy like you tends to, uh, I don’t mean to be indelicate. But are your nethers cursed? Because—”

Sam realized he had frozen in place, listening to the drivel spew from the former King of Hell’s mouth. Sam’s chest tightened and he let out the breath he had been holding. He stepped through the first wall and sealed the demon behind him. Letting him rot in his taunts.

***

After First Born

“All I know is Dean came in asking about putting ear muffs on the possessing angels. So Kevin and I got to work.” Y/N explained, the loss of trust in her eyes hurt him deeply, but he swallowed and let her continue.

“As soon as the sigils were up, Kevin asked Dean what was really going on. We were in the library and there was shouting from the store room. I figured it was just Dean’s temper catching up with how long you were gone, but then you came out, cool as a cucumber.” Y/N flinched, shaking her head as if evening out a scale. “Well, the other you. I don’t even remember what he said before, before firebombing Kevin’s insides.”

Sam sniffled as she held herself, the images scorched inside her memory, causing her to close her eyes.

“I just can’t stay here after, that,” Y/N whispered. “Castiel is going after Metatron, which is great. But I can’t be here alone, not with you. Maybe if Dean gets back and you guys figure some of this out–”

“Could you trust me again?” Sam’s voice hitched, trying not to let the weakness from the failed spell seep into his words.

“I would need to trust both of you, again. After Dean did that to you, you of all people. How do I know I am safe with either of you?”

She finally looked at him, her eyes pained and fearful, two things he would fight to never see on her face ever again. He wanted to wretch, to shake the sense into her. But his hands had killed Kevin and he wouldn’t lift them to her, not now. Not ever. She double checked her pack and that her phone was charged. He stared mindlessly at his computer screen as she climbed the metal staircase. He let it all out once the heavy door fell back into place high above him. If those Bunker walls could talk. Pain would be their first language.


	3. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood and violence this chapter, our reader is one tough cookie! This is a long one, it could have been two chapters, forgive me?

**This was not your mess, even if the whole world was broke, you weren’t compelled to do the fixing. It was too much. Then why couldn’t you just stay away?**

***

You didn’t hear anything from Sam or Dean after you left the Bunker. You couldn’t decide if it was a good thing; you had left for a reason. But knowing them and the life, silence and with it the unknown, was never a positive sign. After two weeks you suckered your way into a beat up Geo Prizm and hit the road, putting Lebanon and the Winchesters far behind you.

The grumble of an engine set your nerves on edge. You shook your head and got back to clearing tables. You had been waitressing for a few weeks to cover your hotel bill in nowhere Minnesota. The haunting you were in town to cover was remedied after two days, but you hadn’t felt compelled to clear town just yet.

Watching the news with a hunter’s insight proved that circumstances with the angels had reached a tipping point and you found yourself silently reaching out to Castiel. Thoughts you couldn’t articulate and worries sent out to the unknown. You hadn’t known the angel like you had the boys, but his presence had eased you in a way you hadn’t felt since childhood. Even if Cas was working n borrowed Grace, you felt him hear you. He must have loved those pig headed fools too.

An impatient cough spun you on your heels and the saccharine smile you plastered on for customers immediately turned sour. A familiar face beckoned from the corner booth.

“Ah, there she is! Still putting the B-I-T-C-H in resting bitch face, I see,” Crowley jeered at you.

“Crowley.” You tilted your head, “How awful it is to see you again.”

“Now, now! Paying customer here,” the Demon tutted at you.

“Of course, what do you want?” You pulled out your order pad and pretended to take his order. Your stomach clenched as he took a sip of water, watching bemusedly as you tried to remain calm.

“Insurance,” Crowley snapped his fingers and suddenly two demons had your arms, while a third shoved a bag over your head before knocking you out cold.

***

Waking up in an unremarkable room bound and gagged felt like every hunters cliche, which only added to your annoyance. Crowley had gotten the jump on you and now you had to deal with third string demons until you broke or they burned off your tattoo and rode you around like a free shuttle with curbside service.

Except, nothing really happened. A generic white dude that reeked of sulfur, (like he used it as conditioner) knocked you out once more. But when you came to, you were untied and a bag of fast food had been left out for you. It went on like this for days. Food came sporadically and you made use of a bucket in the corner. You weren’t knocked out anymore and the wounds from your bindings began to heal. No one seemed to care about your presence one way or another. After a week of boredom and insanity-inducing silence, you heard a voice.

It wasn’t clear or loud, but it sounded like Kevin. That was the first day you cried. The loneliness was driving you to the brink and yet your old friend regret had decided to stick around.

Another week passed and you had lost your voice from screaming and singing old television intros, horribly off key. You would get an unamused thumping on the bulky door if you kept at it too long and once you even got one of the scumbags to open the door and face you. You were getting close to initiating your exit strategy. Another day and your pipes would be right as rain and then the real dramatics could start.

You never got your chance.

The screaming woke you from your nightmares. The ground rattling beneath your weakened body as chaos erupted behind the hidden walls of your prison. You hadn’t realized how many minions were wandering beyond those four walls until you heard each one die. One after another cries for mercy punctuated by the shocking crackle of a corrupted soul dissipating.

The voices began to thin out, movements getting closer to where you stood with your ear to the door.

“It’s not what you think lady!” Your guard pleaded, reasonably. “It’s just some chic Crowley wanted to keep around. Not really top billing if-” a muffled groan ended in his throat. There was nowhere to hide, nothing to defend yourself with besides a small stash of salt packets you had saved from your various bagged meals. Terrified and curious, you crouched behind the heavy door and waited.

A voice like maple syrup called to you, “Don’t be shy. I just want a good look at you.” You rolled your eyes at the terrible placation. Two clipped steps later and she had stopped in the open doorway.

“Eh,” she whined disgusted at the condition of your cell.

Before she could see you, you slammed the door back at her with all the force your weakened body could muster. Your hand slipped down the rusty metal, leaving you to shoulder through. In your free hand you held the handful of tiny paper tubes, tossing them blindly at whatever the interloper was.

Then you were frozen.

And slammed against the wall like a fly after a swatting.

“Let me guess… Abaddon?” You spat out from clenched teeth. A million possibilities raced through your head, all with the same finish line, your funeral pyre. Crowley was a reasonable adversary, Abaddon was truly evil. You closed your eyes and waited to see your family once more. To hear Rafe’s laugh and feel your mother’s embrace. Suddenly Sam’s wide smile flashed against your surrender and your eyes shot open. Ready to face the end with the courage of someone far bolder than you felt.

“That’s better, now you’re going to tell me every dirty thing Crowley kept you for, every thing that sap muttered in the dark and then I’ll end you. Almost painlessly.” Her beauty made her mirth all the more venomous.

“Almost? Not much for greasing palms are you bitch?” All oxygen left your lungs and your eyes began to flood with red. What could have been two minutes felt like a month and then the infamous Knight of Hell released you.

“Humans, always so mouthy. You’re going to keep talking because a girl has a schedule to keep.”

***

You weren’t dead. The brokenness of your body and the pressure on your brain insisted that pain meant something.

Or you were and you hadn’t earned your reunion.

Okay, fair enough, if this anguish meant Hell. You knew what to expect. And Hunters were given the gold star treatment, even lesser known ones like you.

And yet, it still smelt the same. Sam and Dean had agreed that hell was like garbage and rancid meat, death, old fish and sweat all in one nauseating stench. You smelt the same stale cement flooring and urine you had been smelling for weeks. There was a bit of cooper in the air, but as you moved your mouth you realized it was just your own blood pooled and dried beneath your face. However you had kept breathing; you had been out for longer than was healthy.

Eventually you rolled over and sat up. Your elbow was shattered and the opposite leg was broken, she must have done it manually because there were deep nail-like gashes along your calf. You couldn’t remember everything you had spilled, but whatever it was, it was enough to leave you close enough to death to not bother finishing you off. You sniffled and started to crawl. It was one long hallway with a small set of stairs leading to a standard windowless Exit door, the red glow of the sign taunting and tantalizing.

You muttered to yourself, cursing everything from building design to demons to the cut of your eviscerated jeans. Jaw clenched, eyes dimming with blood loss and muscles screaming; you inched on. You shoved bodies of old vessels aside as you made your way toward the outside world. And then a haughty voice quipped behind you.

“Oh dear, she really did know how to throw a tantrum.” Crowley tisked as he looked at all of his dead henchmen. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

“Don’t touch me you bastard!” You barked, voice throbbing in your dry throat.

“Fine, hands free,” Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers.

***

You awoke in your old bed in the Winchesters’ Bunker, still broken and doubled over in pain. Something wasn’t right, Crowley didn’t just do you favors. You sat up, dragging yourself to stand. Fuck, it hurt, hopping towards the door jostled every injury into focus. You grabbed the door knob like a life raft and screamed.

“Sam! Dean! Fucking Winchesters you better be home!”

You waited a minute, listening to the hollowness of the subterranean walls. Just as you inhaled for another round of bellowing, the door down the hall opened. Sam stepped out, gun drawn, hair matted and eyes puffy.

“Y/N?”

“Sam!” You winced, trying to meet him. He crossed the distance in four dizzying strides. “Oh thank God,” You fell into his arms, ignoring the way your body protested or the butt of the gun in your back.

He held you tightly, “How did you get here? Where have you been?” Looking over your defeated form, hand lingering near your cheek.

The questions were forgotten when you returned the once over, “What happened?”

He straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Dean’s dead.”

***

The weeks after losing Dean were quiet, with the exception of Sam disappearing whenever the hint of a demon came onto the radar. You knew Crowley had used you as a consolation prize, one that Sam was not going to accept gracefully. If you hadn’t missed Dean or knew the boys so well, you may have been hurt. But nothing came between them, not really. You knew Sam would never stop when it came to Dean and you respected him all the more for it.

But it was lonely in the Bunker, days spent healing when you could have been of use. To Sam, to Cas, to finding Dean. You should have been used to the solitude after your weeks in Crowley’s hostel. Now you felt encroaching and lost. You felt Sam’s weariness like a lingering rainfall. He never looked at you anymore, which was one of the things he did best, listen with his whole face. You had built that wall between you. He had no idea what to do with you after your trust talk and you weren’t sure you could improve the situation either. An impasse.

Castiel was failing and despite his best efforts he was unable to help in locating Crowley or Dean. His weakened form was hard to swallow, for everyone. You had another week of casts before you were useful, so you spent your time silently reading news articles and attempting to keep the bunker livable. When Sam came home with his arm in a sling, you couldn’t help but laugh in his face. You had become quite the haphazard and frustrated pair. If only the Dean sized hole wasn’t felt within every room, if only.

***

“Y/N!” Sam’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs. He was dragging a body, one whose tanned arms and fitted jeans you knew in an instant. Dean. You sprinted with your freshly healed freedom up to help him. Christ was Dean solid. Sam grunted out the story of his past few days, having kept you in the dark until he was certain. Which translated until he had to tell you. Your stomach pitched as the realization of what Crowley did hit you. He had bastardized your friend into this, manipulation and cunning to the last. He had won his war and took Dean as a boy toy trophy. The Mark of Cain as his right hand man. Fucking demons.

And now that was Dean. After you got him tied up and Sam caught his breath, you worked out what you needed to cure him. Sam was hopeful, which made you even more apprehensive, but you wouldn’t push him off his game. Not now. You couldn’t pose as a doctor, you had spent too much time as a patient at the local hospital. Which left Sam, who figured an early morning shift would be the best time to slip in to the blood bank for enough doses to do the job.

“Listen, Y/N, he doesn’t know you’re here. I am going to do this, alone.” He spoke so formally it almost bit.

“Sure, yeah, except he knows every button you have Sam. Demon or not, that’s Dean. He’s going to rile you up.” You challenged, wanting him to let you help. Needing him to admit you were right, to admit he was scared, to admit anything.

“I’ll be fine. I’m not throwing you at another one of Crowley’s goons, Y/N. Even if it wears the face of my brother.”

You inhaled sharply, that’s what this was about. “Okay, but I’ll be out here if something so much as inches the wrong way. You tag me in, got it?”

“I forget how much you act like him sometimes.” Sam smirked, catching your eye and softening your resolve.

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to keep you in check. Go get the Real McCoy back already,” you patted Sam’s good arm and he straightened, marching into the dungeon.

***

The walls rattled with a sound like a feral tiger, or a gorilla call. Whatever was inside Dean, Sam was facing the monstrous nature of it. You paced outside the store room where the dungeon door was hid. It went on all day, Sam disappearing behind the shelves every hour. After the sixth dose you saw him flinch, his jaw was slipping and it burned your chest to see him like this.

“Hey, I’ll go in for the next one. Give him a shock, keep him guessing.”

Sam was shaking his head as he squinted away his tears. “No.”

“I can’t sit by and watch him make you feel like this.” You crossed your arms over your chest. Sam closed his eyes and sighed, his breath rattling through his rib cage.

“Y/N. I can take it. I’m not putting this on you.”

“Would you stop?” You stepped towards him as he sat on the tabletop, legs barely holding him up. Your boots kissing, your eyes unable to meet his. “Stop trying to protect me, Sam. I spent weeks with demons, a few minutes isn’t going to break me.”

“Do you think I am doubting you?” Sam’s voice shifted. “You’re one of the best damn hunters I have ever seen, Y/N/N. I just can’t put you both in this position. Dean would hate to have you see him like that, whatever he is now. And if it is killing him, I can’t put that on your conscience.”

It came out on a whisper, “Okay, fine, you win.” A genial roll of the eyes and a brush of finger tips over his calloused hand. There were too many words in his glance to reply. The heat from your chest had spread and your cheeks burned with a grin you hadn’t shared in too long. “Be safe.”

“Right.” With his smirk that could make a nun squirm.

***

After Cas showed up, the terror subsided as well as Sam’s restrictions. You were allowed in to help with more doses, and you were there when Dean resurfaced. He was shaky and processing, but he was back. Sam’s burdens were left at the door, despite Cas’s worry over the Mark.

You picked through the left over fries at the bottom of the grease soaked bag as Sam poured you both some stiff ones. Dean had called it an early night and his snoring could be heard from his room.

“So? What’s next on the Winchester shit meter? Angels? The Mark of Cain? New hair care regimen?” You teased, letting the golden liquid coat your tongue and trail down your throat. Sam chuckled, playing with his hair slightly as he thought. You shoved his chair with your foot as he gulped down the rest of his glass, a few drops falling down his chin.

The carefree mood felt indulgent and you knew Sam was trying to hover in the surface emotions for as long as possible. You shouldn’t have asked, but it was in your nature to be prepared.

“Just take it one day at a time. I guess?” Sam cleaned up the spill you caused and poured another round.

“Hey, thanks, by the way. After Crowley left me, like he did, it couldn’t have been easy dealing with my mess and looking for Dean. And I haven’t really been able to admit how much that meant to me. So, thank you, Sam, for being there when a demon, or two, left me for dead.” You raised your etched glass and toasted your long-term host.

“What are friends for?” Sam shrugged. “Anytime, you know?”

“Right, friends.” You nodded, plastering on a fake smile as the hope that had been winding through your gut deflated. You were just friends.


	4. What If?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets some brotherly advice and Y/N goes toe-to-toe with a Shifter with his face. This was an entry into a Fluff Challenge on Tumblr, my prompt was Garth Brooks' If Tomorrow Never Comes. You can find my other SPN works on Tumblr @stusbunker.

The case had taken its toll on Y/N and Dean, leaving Sam to drive the Impala back to the bunker. The passing headlights grew fewer as the late night hours bled into the early morning mists. Something had broke open inside him when Y/N was taunting the witch, the way she refused to back down. Her words ran through his mind like a bad radio jingle.

“I’ve no one left to lose, Elphaba. Give me your best shot!”

She couldn’t have meant it? After everything they had endured together, breaking free of Gadreel, losing Dean to the demon inside him and getting him cured and home. Hadn’t that made her one of them? Weren’t they hers to lose? Wasn’t she his? No, thought Sam. She wasn’t and he’d been a fool to pretend she felt more than friendship towards him. If her words meant anything, it was that he was, somehow, still naive.

He tucked the keys in his jeans pocket and bent over to open the passenger side door. The very few times Dean let him drive; she sat shotgun. Her face scrunching in the dim lights of the garage.

“Hmmm, don’t wanna move,” she whined, Sam couldn’t help but smile at her childlike pout.

“Come on Sleepy, your bed’s waiting,” Sam draped her arm around his shoulders, scooping her up at the knees.

“Yessss, score,” Y/N murmured into his neck without even opening an eye. He knew he was only carrying her for selfish reasons, but if both parties benefited it couldn’t be a total loss, right? She smelled of incense and her body lotion, the smoke lingering on her hair. He breathed her in before setting her casually on to her unmade bed.

“Thanks, Sammy,” She whispered before wrestling out of her jacket.

“‘Night, Y/N,” he replied too low for her to hear. Switching off her light as he gently closed the bedroom door.

***

The next day Sam found Y/N dancing around the kitchen, doing something that appeared to be cooking but bordered on chaos. She was blaring an old country song and two stepping as she fried potatoes. He waited against the door frame, not wanting to break her revelry. His stomach growled with the cooking oil in the air, his chest tightening with each easy sway of her head as she hollered along to the music.

“Oh, I’ve got friends- in looooooooow, places!” She finished, spinning to dump the first batch on some paper towels.

Sam tried to bite back his laughter, giving her a snarky slow clap as she realized he was there.

“Har-har, Winchester. Don’t act like it’s not true.” She stuck her tongue out at him and plopped the plate of potatoes on to the table. There was something baking in the oven and just as the second set of potatoes hit the fryer, she started to slice up a cantaloupe.

“Do I smell breakfast?!” Dean sauntered in, running his hand over his bed head. “Y/N? No, wait, scratch that, I’m not even going to ask.” Dean downplayed his surprise and grabbed his designated coffee mug.

The hunters quickly settled in for a shared meal, not eating over their laptops with research, not grabbing whatever fast food they could find. It was easy domesticity and Sam couldn’t help but savor it. Dean killed the mood when he began teasing Y/N on her pick of radio station, but she held her ground arguing that in the kitchen, “Chef picks the music and the rest should be chewing with their mouths closed.”

The day went on like any other, taking turns scrolling for cases, squabbling over the general chores that kept the bunker livable and occasional bantering. It was a rare good day. Y/N called it an early night, claiming she had a show she wanted to catch up on.

Dean gave her a salute-like wave as she slinked back down the hall in her pajama pants and slippers. Sam had mumbled a good night, trying to keep his eyes from following every move she made.

“Dude, what is with you?!” Dean tossed a bottle cap across the table at his painfully obvious brother.

“Nothing,” Sam stared back at the screen with his brow pinched.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, he shook his head and went back to reading. He drained his beer and turned in for the night. Leaving Sam to stew over his longing ache in solitude.

***

**Two days later**

Y/N loaded their bags into the trunk as Dean checked the oil. Sam was the last one out of the bunker, hands full of coffees for the road. They had a half day’s drive ahead and were working out their strategy for interviews.

“Why don’t we take the parents while Dean goes and talks to the coroner?” Y/N asked leaning over the back seat to see Sam’s phone and the map of the town.

“Uh, why don’t I go to the coroner? Dean could probably sucker a pastry out of the vic’s mother.”

Dean looked over at Sam confused, yet impressed. “Look at you having my back.”

Sam shrugged, “Just don’t want to deal with hangry Dean later if this takes awhile.”

Y/N shifted back into her seat, missing Dean’s gaze in the rear view mirror. He did not need this, whatever this was that was going on between Sammy and Y/N. He held his tongue, worked the case and got some cheesecake. All in all not a bad day on the road. He didn’t like being the levelheaded one, but Sam was leaving him no option.

***

Y/N swung at the shifter with Sam’s face. Her shorter arms forced her closer to the monster than she would have liked. It’s eyes danced as it easily dodged her blade. Its lips curled viciously as it saw her tire, “Running out of adrenaline there little huntress?”

“Why? Need a break?” She huffed and flipped the knife between her fingers.

“Sam’s going to be so devastated when he sees what I do to you,” the creature taunted.

“Yeah, well, if I were you; I would be worrying more about what I am going to do to you,” Y/N wasn’t taking the bate.

The face she knew like the back of her hand made a look of mock revelation, “Oh, you don’t know do you?” It kept her circling in the condemned house, the furniture littering their paths as they each tried to get the upper hand.

“Yeah, Sam is fairly private, isn’t he?” The shifter tossed over a desk, forcing Y/N to lose her balance. She hopped out of the way only to topple over the dingy sofa. It sprang above her, pinning her against the faded cushions.

“He thinks about you, like this, squirming underneath him, out of breath and eyes burst open with want.” Y/N recoiled as the beast trailed Sam’s perfect nose up her jaw.

“Shut up, mutant!” She spat into its face, giving her the opening she needed, she rolled hard against the shifter, freeing her knife hand and slashing at its cheek. It growled in pain and outrage. She tried to scramble away as voices called from the back of the house.

“Sam!” She cried, the shifter stood, pulling her to it’s chest, holding her head at a neck snapping angle between Sam’s strong arms.

“Sam!” It mocked back. “Save me! Oh, princess, this is going to be a gruesome ending to your little “will they, won’t they” saga.”

“Let her go, Sparky!” Dean’s icy voice barked as he aimed his gun at his brother’s face.

Sam’s face pinched as he saw Y/N being held like that with his hands. “It’s going to be alright, Y/N.”

“Sam, I’m scared,” Y/N played it up, giving the monster the dramatics it obviously craved.

“I know you are, I’m right here.”

“Seriously? One minute you’re threatening me and then lover boy shows up and you turn in to a sniveling mess! Woman up!” The shifter complained. “And you, Dean, mister tough guy, if you were going to shoot me you–” The shot rang out across the room. One silver bullet to the head from Sam’s gun.

“I hate when they bestow their judgement upon us, fucking monologues,” Y/N stretched her neck and stepped away from the corpse.

“Alright?” Dean asked, checking that the monster stayed down with an extra stab of his knife to its heart.

“Yeah, took you long enough,” Y/N teased.

Sam approached her nervously, not sure how much she would want to be near him after someone with his face had just man-handled her. “Sorry, got a little tied up,” he held up his wrists to show her the chaffing from his bindings.

“Always knew you were a kinky bastard,” Dean muttered. “Let’s torch the imposter before we have to explain another one of your dead bodies.”

Dean dragged the body by the feet as Y/N and Sam cleared a path through the creaking house. “Are you hurt?” Sam’s voice low, as Y/N rubbed her lower back.

“Nothing a hot bath won’t fix.” Y/N shrugged. “Also, you suck.”

Sam laughed, thinking she was referring to shifter-him. When her face remained serious, panic crept up his back. “What did he say?”

“I’m pretty sure it was a ‘she’, but anyway let’s just say I don’t like being lied to Winchester.” Y/N face was a stone mask, her eyes burning into him as the sourness of guilt flooded his stomach.

“Guys! Let’s go!” Dean called from the back lot. The moment was broken, Y/N looked away and Sam swallowed all explanation.

***

The ride home was one of utter silence, broken only by the radio or Dean complaining about the lack of stations. Sam stared out into the night and Y/N curled up with her earbuds and her latest podcast. Dean was going to have to say something, but he was not in the mood tonight. He’d let Baby bring them home in one piece first, give everyone some space.

**The next day**

Y/N had been shorter than normal all day when she wasn’t hiding in her room with the door locked. Dean coaxed her out with coffee and a grocery run, letting the fresh air ease the mood before poking the bear.

“That shifter got under you skin, huh? It’s always tough when they look like somebody you care about.” Dean asked as he pulled into the parking space. Y/N looked at him like he had something on his face, amused yet trying to politely listen.

“What?”

“Are you trying to have a heart-to-heart with me?” Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as Dean huffed.

“Whatever,” he slammed the driver door and let her push the cart. She kept him in check in the bakery, only letting him buy two pies for the week. They picked over the produce, knowing Sam would bitch if they got the wrong stuff. They approached the check out line joking with each other, the old cashier beaming at them.

“Aren’t you two sweet?” The lady’s tag read Francine.

“Thanks, Franny, but she’s my sister.” Dean continued to flirt with the clerk as Y/N got the bags back into the cart.

“You two drive safe!” The smitten lady waved, after Dean had made her day.

“Sister, huh?” Y/N bumped Dean with her shoulder as they fitted the bags carefully on the floor of the backseat, not wanting to pop the trunk in a busy parking lot.

“Yeah, I mean, would you prefer Sister-in-law?” Dean gave her a look.

“Don’t, Dean. Just, not right now.” Y/N’s voice fell and he knew he had hit a nerve.

“That’s what this is about? What the hell did that shifter say?!” Dean refused to start the car until she gave the unsavory details, his knuckles white against the wheel at times. She couldn’t look him in the eye, but her voice gave her away.

“So you’re pissed because Sam hasn’t told you how he feels?” Dean guessed, half certain he was keeping up.

“Is that how he feels?” Y/N challenged, watching Dean’s face as he realized he had walked right into that.

“You’re going to have to ask him, Y/N.” Dean exhaled as she accepted his complete bullshit response. “But, and this is a big but, would it be a bad thing if he did?”

Y/N mulled over that question, just giving Dean a tortured look as he finally pulled back into traffic.

***

Y/N helped sort the groceries before snagging a bag of Krunchers and disappearing back into her room for the night. Dean approached Sam with a beer and a stern look.

“You have got to talk to her, man. Whatever is going on between you two? I’m done. I had my Dr. Phil moment and now it’s on you.” Dean raised his bottle in a toasting motion and slumped into his usual spot at the library table.

“What’d she say?” Sam asked, lips tightening and leaning forward.

“Nuh-uh, man,” Dean gave his brother an incredulous look. “I like my parts where they are thank you very much.”

After a few minutes of heavy silence, Dean broke, “Come on! You don’t pansy out like this, go tell her.” Dean scrolled on his computer, trying to move past the awkwardness.

“Tell her what?” Sam asked, tisking, failing horribly at hiding his emotions.

Dean cleared his throat and looked Sam straight in the eye. “You’ve tried lying to me since you were four, Sam. You’re still terrible at it. Especially when it comes to this crap.”

Dean wasn’t having it, not anymore. Sam’s mouth curled down with his embarrassment, he scratched the back of his head in chagrin.

“I don’t know, man. I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, I’m not Mister-Happy-Endings– But if I’ve learned ANYTHING is that you take the good things as they come. Guys like us, it doesn’t happen too often, Sammy.” Dean’s hand was palm up like it was an offer, eyes wide, hoping that Sam would stop overthinking for once.

Sam’s lips were tight, listening to Dean as if in conflict. He should have made a an argument, but wanted Dean to be right. Sam needed Y/N in his life, for however long she would stay. Could he risk losing her by admitting how he felt?

**An hour later**

Sam lingered outside of Y/N’s door, his chest rising with calming breaths that weren’t helping. She was blasting her music again, but something like a sob resonated below the melody. Sam’s worry overtook his fear and he knocked.

“Go away!” Y/N snapped.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” Sam’s voice was rougher than he meant it, but he had to nearly scream to make it over the song.

“Just leave me alone,” Y/N called back.

“Not gonna happen.” Sam tucked his hair behind his ears and pressed his head to the door.

“Stubborn sonofabitch,” he heard her mutter, soon the door swung open, causing him to catch himself on the door jam. “What?!” She hollered. Her eyes were red and her hair was matted, Sam couldn’t stop staring at her.

_And the thought crosses my mind_  
If I never wake up in the morning  
Would she ever doubt the way I feel  
About her in my heart

_If tomorrow never comes-_

Y/N glared at him, shaking the door with the hand she didn’t have balled on her hip. “I love you.”

“What?!” She shouted, his voice lost in the old Garth Brooks’ song. She spun to turn the dial to a conversational level. Sam scrunched his nose and cleared his throat as she turned back around, the loose sides of her robe swaying with the motion. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Her features had turned curious, her arms crossed over her chest. He ducked his head down and stepped closer to her. “I love you.”

“What?” She asked again, eyes glistening as her head tilted to see him better.

He chuckled, “Third times a charm, huh? I love you, Y/N. I just thought you should know. I don’t know what that shifter said was running through my head, but I shouldn’t have hid this from you, for so long.”

Sam smiled shyly down at Y/N, now. His eyes hooded in anticipation and an inkling of hope. Y/N reached up and brushed his hair back, a soft smile curling her luscious lips. He closed his eyes at the softness of her palm, relishing in the closeness. “I love you, too, Sam.” Her voice cracked, but the richness returned as she finished. “But you still suck.”

He outright laughed now, a deep chortle, as his hands snaked around her waist. “May I?” he asked as he angled his face just above hers. She answered by diving in, taking his waiting lips in a hungry kiss. He melted against her and forgot everything that had been keeping him from this bliss.


	5. Where?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some more fluff. Little bit of angst and something that I never thought I would write happening inside the Impala. Ending is a bitch. This one is still in third/ Sam-centric because I felt like the last chapter should be in second. This has been a long time coming, my apologies. Any feedback is appreciated. xoxo Stu

**And so it happened. Sam wasn’t sure where they were headed, but he did know they were headed there together.**

Sam woke with a soreness in his thighs and a weight on his chest, struggling to sit up he was met with a surprised groan at his side. It had really happened; they had slept together. He had admitted everything he felt with words and actions. She grumpily rolled away from him, tugging the comforter along her neck. He smiled in quiet realization, she had bared her feelings as well. Sam quickly found his shorts, making sure not to wake her before starting on breakfast.

Dean didn’t know what he had expected hunting with a couple would entail, but it wasn’t this. This being normal. Sure, Sam and she shared a bed in the motels exclusively now. And occasionally she would wear Sam’s shirts. But there was no sickening PDA or unnecessary nicknames or anything weird. It was almost like they had been together all along, skipping past the honeymoon phase and straight into contented familiarity.

Which was a welcomed surprise as his own desires were darkening with each pull from the Mark of Cain. The one thing he had hoped for from this scenario hadn’t worked out for him, either. Sam still didn’t know when to leave him alone with his thoughts. After his little brother saved his ass from the psycho ghost in the painting, Dean still had to listen to Sam beg for him to open up. He didn’t want Sammy or his girl to worry, so he played along. But Dean also knew he wouldn’t be flapping his jaw any time soon. He couldn’t put that on Sam, not when he finally had some semblance of happiness.

**A case after The Bad Seed**

“What the hell was that?!” Sam stared at her like she was insane, and after the slash and grab she had just pulled over the last witch; he was starting to be convinced of it.

“Uh, what’d you mean? We got ‘em all, right?” Worried clouded her face; she thought she had missed something, not scared him senseless.

“No! I mean, yeah, they’re all taken care of, but why would you do that?”

She looked over to Dean, who shrugged and shook his head in reciprocated confusion. “Sam?”

“No, Y/N, seriously why would you throw yourself at her like that?” Sam felt her slip passed him and before he could get a word out, she was wrestling the artifact from the witch’s grasp. Any moment could have been her last and he just froze. It was his worst nightmare and oldest trauma unfolding once more; he couldn’t take it.

He sniffed, not able to breathe deep enough from the tightness in his chest. She stepped forward, pushing into his space without touching him; he straightened, unable to remedy the fear and rage as she stood solid and unblemished before him.

“I’m fine, Sam.”

“But you could have gotten killed, Y/N.”

“That’s everyday.”

Dean rested against the Impala’s roof, waiting for this freak out to wind down before they got out of Dodge. He remained quiet, but something told him that Sam had been holding on to this worry a lot longer than this hunt. It just took him longer to face his shortcomings than Dean, who wore them as accessories; accepted and addressed.

“Only if you’re reckless.”

“Sam?” Dean warned.

“I am NOT a civilian, Samuel. There are no guarantees in this life; so I took a chance and broke the spell! Now, you can accept that I am an equal and will do everything I can to protect my own, or you can keep it in your pants. Because I am NOT letting you play martyr all damn day to just stand by and be helpless.”

Sam sputtered, she just threw him for a loop and a half. He tried to hold on to his anger, but she landed some good points. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then stop being an ass.”

Dean huffed and slid into the driver’s seat, ‘good luck with that one’ he thought. They made nice, but not too nice; the tension remained as this fight had been appallingly public. Soon they were all packed up and heading back to the Bunker, awaiting the next whisper of Amara’s presence in the world.

It wasn’t with words that Sam knew she had forgiven him. It was in the little, ordinary things. When she refilled the coffee pot at night, setting the timer perfectly for his post run cup. Or the way she would ensure she stayed in his line of sight whenever they were in large crowds, practical and reassuring, even if it was hard for her to keep from blending in.

Everyday he fell more in love with her, more at peace in the comfort of her presence. Which was why Sam couldn’t blame Dean for the way he acted whenever the Darkness made an appearance. Because if Sam lost her, he would search every inch of the Earth, turn over every speck of evidence to get her home. Amara may not be safe or human, but their connections were equally undeniable.

A live-in relationship was more difficult than Sam had fathomed, but the rewards always outlasted the effort. She had never been somebody’s someone and Sam had forgotten how to be. Together they stumbled through their first year with hands clasped together tight against their histories and insecurities, fate and monsters alike.

****

**After Chuck’s reveal in All in the Family, on the way to Donatello**

“So you guys gonna make it?” Dean gave Sam his serious eyebrows in the rear view mirror. Sam muffled an annoyed sound in his throat before clearing it.

“What? We’re fine, Dean.” He played with Y/N’s hair, her head in his lap though he knew she was no longer sleeping.

“That’s not what I mean, man,” Dean grunted, before pulling to the side of the road.

“What the hell is with you?!” She groaned as she sat up, a dark line across her face from a roll in the fabric of Sam’s jeans. Dean moved with an impatience that set all of their hunter senses up.

“Listen, I just want to know, for all of our sake, is this it for you two? Is this ‘til death or apocalypse do us part?” Dean half leaned over the seat staring at his little brother and his little brother’s old lady. Sam looked like a shocked puppy while her eyes were crinkled in suspicion.

“What’s it to you?” she asked once the silence had grown too much.

Dean’s face went through about twelve different emotions until he reached something between sheepish and stoic. “You and Sam and this car and Cas. That’s my family. And, uh, well, Baby here is kind of like a ship, and as her captain I want to do the honors.”

Sam chuckled as Dean floundered through his explanation. “Well at least you’re not making her ask for my hand.”

“Now you’re talkin’,” Dean snapped a finger gun at Sam then dragged it in her direction. “Do you swear to do right by my oversized little brother, love, honor in sickness and hell and all that crap?”

“Sickness and Health?” she clarified.

“Yeah, well, that too.” Dean was really serious. Sam wondered if this was some grander gesture, a prologue to a goodbye.

“Dean, come on, this, isn’t legal or anything,” Sam hadn’t realized she had snaked her hand in his until he dragged the opposite palm through his hair.

“Nothing we do is legal, Sam, she whispered out of the side of her mouth, her voice shaking with excitement he hadn’t noticed before. When he looked at her all he saw was hope. His chest tightened with overwhelming emotion. Sam Winchester realized he wasn’t ever going to be more home than he was in that moment with Dean and her in the Impala on the side of some random two lane highway.

“Are you sure?” he asked her now, ignoring the smarmy gloat on his brother’s face. Sam’s face broke into a nervous grin as she nodded, leaning her free hand on to his chest to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

“Is that a proposal?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess it is,” Sam pecked her hairline and gestured for Dean to continue.

Dean cleared his throat dramatically, “Alright, do you Sammy take Y/N?”

“Is that all you’re going to say?” she demanded.

“I already asked the important questions, you guys figure out your own stipulations.” Dean snipped back.

“I do.” Sam cut in before their back and forth could escalate more.

“Atta-boy,” Dean winked at her. “Y/N, do you promise to do all that stuff and put up with his crap?”

“I do, too.” She had turned to stare back at Sam, letting Dean’s voice fade as they made their silent promises.

“By the power given to me by the keys to the car, I now declare you stuck with one another. You may kiss and make honest people out of each other,” Dean rolled his eyes as he turned to get the car back on the road. He sneaked a few peeks at them getting handsy before adjusting the mirror again for their privacy. A win in a sea of darkness.

**After Alpha and Omega**

“They sent me to take you in,” the scrawny blonde explained from the shadows.

“To take me in?”

“Assuming the world didn’t end, and yay!” Sam could feel her oddly timed glee, feeling drained by her sheer presence.

“Look, lady-”

“We’ve been watching you, Sam. What you’ve done, the damage you’ve caused: archangels, Leviathans, the Darkness. And now, well, the old men have decided that enough’s enough. Well, let’s just face it Sam. You’re just a jumped up hunter playing with things he doesn’t understand and doing more harm than good. Now–”

“You watch what you say from here out, bitch, or so help me,” Y/N spat as she made her way down the stairs.

“Sorry, dear, who are you?”

Sam knew that was the worst question in their current situation, but he wasn’t going to interrupt the snob getting ripped a new one.

“I’m his wife, Barbie. Haven’t heard of me?” Y/N marched through the room, ignoring the smell of blood and the fading grace in the air. “So much for watching Sam, sure you have all the intel you need for apprehension?”

“Stop,” Toni raised a small gun and Sam was on Y/N in a split second.

“Listen, lady-”

“You barge into our home and start making demands, I don’t think so. So you tell your bosses your London Chapter Heads or what have you–”

“Just put the gun down,” Sam tried to remain calm, hand firm on his wife’s shoulder.

“I said, stop.”

“Oh, please, we all know you’re not going to pull the trigger.”

The gun fired and time stopped.

“Now, where’s Dean, Sam?” Her voice was cold, but he couldn’t focus on the words, not with all of the blood.


End file.
